


build my world around you

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: (sort of), Anal Sex, Bottom Phil Coulson, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Safer Sex, Top Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 18:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is injured during an op. Clint reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	build my world around you

**Author's Note:**

> This story came from me deciding there needed to be more top!Clint/bottom!Phil fics out there, and Clark Gregg looking delicious in his suits. And then, suddenly, some feels wormed their way into my porn. *hands* I don't have a good excuse for that.
> 
> Title is taken from "Baby, Now That I've Found You," as covered by Alison Krauss & Union Station. (Some sources list it as 'built,' others as 'build.') Thanks to ~~Dizmo~~ LDF for the title inspiration--don't ask me how I got from your suggestion to this title, because I have no idea. All mistakes are mine.

It wasn't often that one of Phil's ops went off the rails. His current position near the top of SHIELD was due in no small part to his diligence and planning, including selecting the right people for each position and preparing for every possible contingency, however unlikely it seemed.

Or rather, _almost_ every contingency, he amended mentally, as Agent Morgan finished cleaning the gash on his forehead and used three butterfly bandages to keep it closed. "I hope you're not going to tell me to be more careful next time," he said to Clint, who was hovering far too closely, his body strung as tight as his bowstring. "The irony of that statement would be a little too much right now."

"I wasn't," Clint said, his voice low, his fingers twitching toward Phil. "I'm not that stupid."

Morgan, their field medic and a long-time veteran of Phil's team, could barely hold back her snort of laughter. "I've patched you up too many times to be able to agree with that statement, Barton," she joked, giving Phil's bandages a final check. "Agent Coulson, I don't think you've sustained a concussion, but if you have any dizziness, confusion, or nausea, I want you to call me immediately. Since we can't get you into a CAT scan right now, I would really prefer you avoid painkillers for the time being."

Phil nodded, the ache in his skull already dulling. "That shouldn't be a problem. I've had worse."

"I don't doubt it," she said. "If the pain becomes unbearable, call me, and then take some ibuprofen. Barton," she said, and Clint snapped to attention. "Take him back to the safehouse, and keep an eye on him. Don't let him do any paperwork or stare at a computer screen. He needs rest, so don't, under any circumstances, listen to any of his excuses or let him pull rank," she added, eyes narrowed at Phil. "I know how stubborn he can be, but that will only exacerbate his problems. You got that, Agent Barton?"

"Yes ma'am," Clint said.

Sitwell sauntered up, grinning. "Guess I'm in charge of this op after all."

Phil glared at his friend, which made Sitwell's grin only get wider. "Don't fuck it up, Jasper," he said. "This is important."

"Mmm, well we're stuck without a surveillance van for at least twelve hours, and whose fault is that?" he teased, glancing over to where their old van had been turned into a very expensive paperweight by a rotten pine and a strong gust of wind. "Oh, that's right! Not mine."

"Jackass," Phil said as he stood. Clint's hand was suddenly under his elbow, hovering a centimeter from his arm, ready to catch him if he wasn't steady on his feet. "Next time I'll be sure to check the structural integrity of nearby trees."

"I don't doubt it," Sitwell said. "Now get out of here and let me do your job."

Despite his grumblings, he knew Sitwell was more than qualified to run the op, so he let Clint lead him to the black sedan without any more complaints. The silence in the car was thick with tension as Clint drove them to the safehouse, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. For someone as careless with his own bodily safety as Clint was, he took Phil's very seriously, and wouldn't be satisfied until he could reassure himself that Phil was okay.

The safehouse was only a few miles from their base of operations, on a quiet residential street. Clint pulled into the attached garage, and shut off the engine. "How's your head, Phil?" he asked, voice carefully controlled.

"My head is fine. It was a glancing blow, and you know more than most that head wounds bleed copiously," he said, matching his tone to Clint's. "If I'd been sitting six inches to the left, it would have missed me entirely."

"And if you'd been sitting six inches to the right, you'd be in the hospital right now," Clint countered.

"Clint--" Phil began, but Clint cut him off with a sharp headshake.

"Inside," he bit out, throwing the driver's side door open with more force than necessary and scrambling out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

Phil followed at a much slower pace, letting Clint do the sweep for bugs that was usually Phil's responsibility. He locked the garage door behind him, then made his way toward the back bedroom of the three-bedroom ranch. "Clint?" he called out, making sure to telegraph his movements and that his steps were loud enough to be heard.

As soon as he crossed the threshold into the bedroom, Clint crowded him against the wall, pressing his face into the crook of Phil's neck. "You could have died, Phil," he growled, breath hot on Phil's skin. "Six inches, and you could have been gone." Clint pressed his body flush against Phil's, his large hands cradling Phil's hips. "Six inches," he repeated.

Phil swallowed and placed his own hands carefully on Clint's sides. "I know. But I'm here now," he said, voice calm and reassuring even as his heart rate spiked and his cock started to thicken.

"I need to see," Clint breathed, "I need to make sure." 

As soon as Phil nodded, Clint began to slowly, thoroughly strip him, starting by dragging his jacket down his arms and tossing it aside. He slid his hands back up to Phil's shoulders, then across to loosen and remove his silk tie. Phil bit his lip as Clint started at his throat and carefully undid each individual button, stroking each bit of undershirt as it was exposed. He knelt on the floor and nuzzled at Phil's half-hard cock through his trousers as he unbuckled his leather belt and pulled it out, loop-by-loop.

The metal buckle clanked loudly against the hardwood when Clint dropped it to untuck Phil's shirttails. He rose slowly to his feet and slipped his hands under the collar of Phil's shirt, his fingers firm as he removed the fine white fabric. When Phil was down to his pants and undershirt, Clint cupped his face and kissed him hard, licking his way into Phil's mouth and making Phil arch against him.

When Phil was breathless with want, Clint pulled away and dropped back to his knees, his hands still unbelievably steady as he untied Phil's shoes. Phil gripped Clint's shoulder to steady himself as Clint pulled off one shoe and then the other, then repeated the process with his socks. When Phil's feet were bare against the cool wood floor, Clint rose up and pressed a kiss to Phil's cloth covered erection before slowly--too fucking slowly--unsnapping the button and dragging the zipper down. His boxer-briefs kept his cock contained as Clint let the fine wool of his trousers pool around his bare ankles, but Phil couldn't help his needy whine. "I need to see," Clint whispered, his face level with Phil's belly.

Phil wanted to say _see faster_ , but he knew that wouldn't help. He'd known what would happen in this room, the type of reassurance Clint needed, and by crossing the threshold, he'd tacitly agreed. Goading Clint to hurry up would only convince him that Phil was hiding something, and he would take even more time, leaving Phil painfully erect for too long. "Okay," he breathed, and the tension in Clint's shoulders eased a little. "But bed?"

Clint inhaled sharply, turning his head to press his temple to Phil's stomach. He was all too aware of the heat of Clint's body, so close to where he wanted it, but still so far, and Phil had to grit his teeth to keep from begging. After a long moment, Clint nodded. "Bed," he agreed.

Clint took his time standing, stopping to lick Phil's nipples through his undershirt, then to bite softly at his collarbone and earlobe. His eyes were dilated and hyper focused on each step Phil took toward the room's double bed, and he shook his head when Phil simply sat on the edge of the mattress. "Lie down," he said, the command almost a request. Phil nodded and squirmed ungracefully until he could rest his head on the pillows, and waited for Clint.

Still fully dressed himself, Clint followed him onto the bed, thighs bracketing Phil's hips and his arms on either side of Phil's head, caging him in. He leaned down and Phil met him halfway for a blistering kiss, one that had Phil rubbing shamelessly against Clint's field uniform in a desperate search for friction. Clint broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against Phil's. "Still need to see," he whispered, before reaching down to tug Phil's undershirt off by the hem.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Phil was down to just his black boxer briefs, the majority of his skin on display for Clint to see. Clint began his exploration at Phil's head, pressing a soft kiss to the gash with a pained whine. "Does it hurt?" he asked, voice soft.

Phil swallowed hard, and shook his head. "Not right now."

Clint hummed thoughtfully and moved on to his neck licking and biting gently at the curve of Phil's shoulder. His lips skated across Phil's chest, his hot breath tickling the wiry hair there as his hands squeezed Phil's biceps and down to his forearms. Clint's tongue left wet trails that cooled quickly enough to cause goosebumps as he circled Phil's navel and continued down to the elastic waistband of his underwear. Clint licked the head of Phil's hard cock through the black cotton, leaving Phil whining for more. "Soon," he promised as he edged further down the bed to inspect Phil's legs, strong fingers massaging the muscles of his thighs and calves. Even Phil's feet weren't safe; Clint traced the arches with such a light touch that Phil couldn't hold back his laughter. Clint looked up sharply at the sound, and his own lips twitched. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Phil said as Clint reached up to ease his boxer-briefs up over his now-aching erection, down his legs, and off. "Just..." He trailed off as Clint's hot, callused hand wrapped around his cock and pumped once.

"Shhh," Clint said. "Wait." 

Phil squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Clint lever himself off the bed, then heard the rustle of him stripping out of his field suit. The drawer beside the bed squeaked as Clint opened it and fished around for the condoms and lube that Phil had stocked himself, preparing for this possibility.

When he opened his eyes again, Clint was naked and staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Phil licked his lips and reached for him; Clint sank down to the bed willingly, covering Phil's body with his own and kissing him deeply. "Need to be inside you," Clint murmured against his lips, and Phil could only nod enthusiastically.

Clint grabbed one of the pillows and rolled off Phil to scoot down to the foot of the bed. Phil planted his feet on the bedspread and lifted his hips at Clint's small nod, letting Clint position the pillow under his hips and giving him better access to Phil's ass. Clint settled himself between Phil's legs, rubbing his palms down from Phil's knees, across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs to his groin. He traced the crease of Phil's leg with one callused finger, down under his balls and to the cleft of his ass. Phil's head fell back against the bed at the sound of Clint opening the bottle of lube; seconds later a slick finger slid inside him.

Clint added a second finger almost immediately, the stretch more pain than pleasure. Phil grunted and breathed deep, forcing his muscles to relax, to take Clint's fingers like they would soon take his cock. He hadn't even noticed that his erection had started to flag, but Clint apparently had; he pumped Phil's cock in counterpoint to his thrusts, until Phil was babbling, begging for Clint to fuck him. 

Chuckling, Clint pulled away just long enough to roll on a condom and slick his cock, then he was back, pushing into Phil, slowly, inexorably. He hooked his elbows under Phil's knees, bending him nearly in half as he leaned in for a messy kiss. Phil's cock was trapped between them, Clint's stomach hair roughly stimulating the sensitive head with each thrust, and Phil dug his fingers into Clint's shoulders for purchase. "Clint, I'm close," he said, voice wrecked, "I'm so close."

"Good," Clint responded, voice just as wrecked. "Wanna feel you come, baby, want to feel your ass tight around my cock, wanna keep fucking you when you're boneless and fucked out. I need to see you come, Phil, I need to _see_."

The vehemence and raw need in Clint's voice was enough to tip Phil over the edge. Clint continued to fuck him through it, Phil's come sliding wetly between them as he searched for his own orgasm. Just as the last waves of his climax started to wane and his muscles began protesting the less than ideal position, Phil felt Clint's thrusts stutter to a stop as he came, Phil's name on his lips.

Clint collapsed on Phil, pressing sloppy kisses to his face and neck until Phil managed to convince him to roll over and off. He grunted as Clint's cock slid out of him, followed by a warm trickle of lube, and winced a little as he stretched out flat on the bed. "I'm not as flexible as you are, you know," he scolded, rubbing his hip as Clint tossed the condom into the room's trashcan.

"'M sorry," Clint mumbled, wrapping himself around Phil and nuzzling at his neck. "Should join me and Nat for yoga."

"What you and Natasha do is not, in any sense of the word, 'yoga,' despite its geographical origins," Phil shot back, tucking his arm under Clint's shoulders and pulling him closer. "For one, you use knives."

"It's called a _kris_ ," Clint corrected, looking up at Phil, his gorgeous eyes lidded and drowsy. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Clint," Phil began. He sighed and squeezed Clint's shoulders in a one-armed bastardization of a hug. "There are far more destructive ways you could deal with your frustration," he finally said, "and I, for one, enjoy this one very much."

"I love you," Clint whispered. "I don't want to lose you like everyone else I've loved."

"I'm not going anywhere," Phil murmured, and Clint hummed happily against his bare skin.

**Author's Note:**

> A _kris_ is a bladed weapon from Indonesia. It is not used in yoga, but rather in _silat_ , which is a collective word for several types of martial arts practiced in Southeast Asia. Yoga is a religious and meditative practice that Clint would probably find extremely boring, so Natasha decided to add in some _silat_ to keep him from annoying her too much.


End file.
